


Exploration n

by custardpringle



Series: The Fraser Record (Excerpts) [2]
Category: House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski, due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custardpringle/pseuds/custardpringle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's become uncomfortably familiar in the past few months: the near-irrational but constant fear that, any time I turn my back on Ray for even a moment, he may simply vanish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exploration n

The last time I come home from the hospital, it's to find Ray half-curled on the sofa, fingers drumming nervously on its arm; he looks up the instant the door closes behind me, and a relieved grin breaks across his face. "Thank God," he murmurs, probably not even meaning for me to hear.

Nonetheless, I can sympathize. It's become uncomfortably familiar in the past few months: the near-irrational but constant fear that, any time I turn my back on Ray for even a moment, he may simply vanish. The sensation has lessened with time, but I doubt either of us will ever be rid of it entirely.

"There's no need to get up," I say quickly, reaching out to stop him from moving. Instead I shed my coat, hanging it neatly on the hook behind the door, and take the four familiar steps I need to reach the sofa and settle down next to Ray.

"Hey," he says softly, arm wrapping around my shoulders, and I relax gratefully against him. "How're you doing? Everything good?"

"Well--" I lift my right hand, and we both watch my fingers do their best to flex in and out. "As good as can be expected, I suppose."

Ray's free hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist, ever so carefully. "Here, lemme see."

My own hand is unfamiliar even to me, now: strangely small-looking without any bandages or casts, and pale and hairless after being covered for so long. And then there are the truly new things, the lumps and twists where my fingers will never heal quite right; these, too, I had never seen until a few hours ago. Ray examines all these things at his leisure, fingers brushing lightly along the sensitive new skin of the surgical scars that stretch over the back of my hand. "Fraser." His voice is hoarse, but from what emotion I can't quite tell. "Oh, God."

"It's nearly as good a recovery as I could have hoped for," I point out. "And, with physical therapy, there's no way to predict--"

"No," Ray interrupts. "No, it's just, I-- Fraser, you had--" He stops and leans his head momentarily against mine where it rests on his shoulder. "No, you _have_ such amazing hands."

And while I'm still processing that sentiment, Ray bows his head and kisses my hand, just where my thumb twists nearly halfway around. Then the sideways bend of my pinky. The bulge of scar tissue where a metacarpal snapped and then healed. The smaller, softer scars where the surgeons cut betwen my knuckles.

I have to remember, after a minute, to start breathing again.

We've been sharing a bed, of course, ever since that first night in a hotel room when I found myself crawling under the covers with Ray to help stave off the nightmares. But only in the most literal sense-- only for the sheer physical comfort of each other's presence while we sleep. It has never occurred to me to want anything more.

Until now, when suddenly I can't seem to think of anything else.

Ray presses one last kiss to my palm, finally releasing his grip on me. Instead of taking my hand back, I slide it up to cup the side of his face-- the stubble is probably too abrasive for my oversensitized skin, but that's not at all important right now. It's too amazing that, after so long, I can touch and feel and have use of this hand again. Even more amazing that, of all things, it should be Ray's face my new-made fingers are exploring.

"Oh, Jesus." His voice is still hoarse, but it's easy now for me to understand why. "Fraser, you don't-- you got no _idea_ how much--"

I believe I have a fairly good idea, actually; it's tempting to say so, but simpler and more satisfying just to lean in and kiss him.

There's no question and no hesitation in it, because there's no need for either. I have no qualms about opening my mouth to Ray's questing tongue, to letting him explore my mouth even as I learn the taste of him in turn. He turns to push me back against the sofa, hands moving to my hair and the small of my back, and the press of his chest against mine is astonishingly solid and _there._

This, then, is what I've been missing-- all this time I've been afraid of losing Ray, and now it's so easy to be certain that he's here. The flavor of his mouth, the feel of his hands on me, the sound of his quiet gasps in my ear-- they all make it so easy to hold on to him. To be sure of him.

Ray's hand slides out of my hair and all the way down my arm, long nimble fingers twining with my clumsy broken ones, and I don't think anything's been more real to me in all my life.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on LiveJournal, 21 January 2007.


End file.
